Master and Slave
by BlueSkyEyes
Summary: A magical war brews on the horizon. When the Five Kingdoms are torn, Albion must look to Camelot for help. All too soon, Merlin and Arthur are faced with the need of turning to Albion's greatest enemy for help - Morgana Pendragon. However, unbeknownst to Camelot, Morgana must face a battle of her own, one she may never survive. This is the story of Morgana's redemption...
1. Chapter 1

**Right, so... I think it's safe to say that that ending of Merlin was like... not cool, you know? And so I find myself (after re-watching the series) coming to FanFiction with my own version of the story and its awesome characters. This is a Morgana-centric story, for all those Morgana lovers out there ;) And that's me included... I would also like to mention that this story will also feature a broken Morgana, as it is her redemption story, but with a slight twist, of course. **

**Anyway, this story is set a few months after season 4. I always wondered, 'what if Aithusa healing Morgana had certain consequences?' Hope you guys enjoy it and let me know what you think! **

* * *

My heartbeat drums wildly in my ears. My chest burns with each desperate breath I take. I catapult myself over a fallen tree and nearly stumble over my dress.

_Goddam attire_, I grumble inwardly.

An arrow slices my shoulder as it whizzes through the air. I shoot a scowl over my shoulder at the heavily armoured bandits.

_Goddam bandits! When I get my hands on that fat bastard, I swear I'll make him-_

A bandit crashes through the forest brush ahead of me, cutting off my internal grumbling. The bandit raises his broadsword at me, face pulled into a menacing scowl. I skid to a halt, throwing my arm out in instinct. I watch with barely contained glee as the bandit flies through the air, a girlish scream ripped from his throat. I only tear my gaze away when the man crumples to the ground in a lifeless heap.

And that's all it takes for the bandits to catch up with me. Thudding footsteps, angered screaming. I spin around to the sight of another bandit, sword already in full swing. I duck under the blow and snap my hand towards his throat. I squeeze my fingers around the fragile bones and smirk at the utter look of horror plastered across the brute's face. "_Acwelan,"_ I mutter. The bandit's eyes glaze over with instant death. Snarling, I snatch the sword from the bandit's slack grip. I lift the weapon, ready to face my next attacker… and come to a complete stop. My mind seems to catch up with my actions, my heavy breathing turning into hyperventilation. Guilt clutches at my heart, squeezing in a vice-like grip. My gaze swims with unbidden tears and I stumble backwards.

_What the hell is wrong with me? _

In my haze of confusion, the remaining bandits form a tight circle around me. With massive effort, I manage to shake myself free of the sudden, crushing guilt. I flick my gaze from bandit to bandit. They watch me carefully, hands trembling where they hold their swords. I force my trembling lips into a leisurely smirk as I flick my sword around my wrist. "So, who's next?" When no one falls for the bait, I shrug.

_No matter, they will all die here either way… _

In the blink of an eye, I shoot my hand out, splay my fingers apart. Their swords slip from their hands, like taking a toy from a child. The weapons flip around mid-air, sword tips pointing at their respective owners. One incantation and their lives will be cut short…

A nagging feeling in the back of my mind stops me short. It claws at my conscience, a feral thing fighting to let loose. My arm trembles, the sword points dipping. The bandits watch me with confusion as they take several steps back. _Now, Morgana!_ I force my arm higher, my mouth parting to form the incantation.

_No, stop! This isn't me… this isn't me! _

A sharp twang echoes through the forest. From the corner of my gaze, I notice the archer too late. An arrow thuds into the soft flesh of my upper thigh. I drop to one knee, my own scream piercing my ears. The swords thud to the forest floor as I clutch at my injured leg.

"Get her!" a bandit shouts. It takes but a split second for my training to kick in. With one swift movement, I break the arrow shaft, careful to keep the arrowhead in place and jump to my feet, meeting my first attacker with my sword held high. Steel clashes against steel. Grunting, I push back. I spin around, my sword arm following. The sword point slices cleanly through the bandit's throat, blood spraying the side of my face. Another bandit takes a jab at my injured leg. I bring my sword down to parry his blow. With too much effort and a pained groan, I send my boot into the bandit's chest. He staggers backwards, granting me just enough time to parry the next blow to my side.

Swing…parry…slice. Another bandit falls, clutching at his severed arm, mouth wide in a pained shriek.

I sink the end of my sword into the next bandit's stomach, gritting my teeth against the pain in my leg. With my boot placed firmly against the bandit's chest, I push him off my sword, like pulling meat off a skewer. I swing into my next attack, sword grasped tightly with both hands. With massive effort, I send my sword slicing through the air and into a bandit's head, the blade hitting home with a crunching thud. I pull on the hilt, but the weapon remains firmly intact with the bandit's skull. Grunting, I shove the bandit away and turn to face the remaining bandits.

… Too late.

A bandit, this one different with his night-black, leather chest-plate and forest green undercoat, drives a barbed sword deep into my belly. His eyes, almost as black as his chest guard, dances with malice, his upper lip twitching to reveal rotting teeth. I open my mouth in a silent scream, my thoughts spiralling to a sudden halt. My surroundings disappear, until nothing but blinding pain becomes the master of my world.

The bandit leans in close, his putrid breath fanning over my face. "You were really beginning to test my nerves, witch," he hisses. Without warning, he rips his sword from my stomach. And finally, the sound ripped from my throat, is almost inhuman. I feel myself tip backwards, falling to the forest floor in what feels like slow motion. A memory flashes to the forefront of my mind. Suddenly, I'm not surrounded by bandits and I'm not in a forest.

_The sound of unbridled joy fills the air. The world around me spins until I fall onto my back, clutching at my stomach in a fit of giggles. A younger Arthur looms over me, his blonde hair shining like a golden halo in the afternoon sunlight._

_"The Mighty Morgana has been defeated once more!" he shouts theatrically to the heavens. "And this time, I escape with my life intact!"_

_I roll my eyes. "Only just barely," I remind him through another fit of giggles. Arthur ignores my comment and drops the point of his wooden sword to my throat._

_"Do you yield, Morgana?"_

_I lift my hands in mock fright. "Yes, I yield. Please, spare my life, oh great King Arthur!"_

_Arthur reaches a hand out to me, his sea-blue eyes glinting with child-like joy._

_"Always and forever."_

A smile pulls at my lips as the memory washes away. The forest and the bandits come back to me with sharp clarity. The bandit looming over me lowers himself into a kneeling position, a dark smirk pulling at his lips. "Pretty soon, there won't be much for you to smile about, sweetheart."

In one fell swoop, he smashes the hilt of his sword into my head.

And all too willingly, I fall into the blissful darkness.

* * *

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

**Alright, I'm back with another chapter. This story just refuses to leave me alone, but guess what? I'm totally fine with that :) So, in answer to AndreKl's review, yes, I do want to make this a pure redemption fic, however, with that being said... I will have Aithusa's magic play some sort of part in that. I still find Morgana's character arc in the series a little... unbelievable. It didn't really make sense to me... But, don't worry, Morgana will be in full control of her thoughts and actions, I promise you. **

* * *

When I wake up, it's to blinding pain, my hands bound securely by metal chains. I groan, trying to lift my head in an effort to take stock of my situation, when my vision blurs and the world spins violently on its axis. I barely manage to roll over in time before I empty what little was in my stomach, the violent convulsions sending a ripping pain through my stomach. Instinctually, I reach out to grab at the pain, only to come into contact with a gaping, wet wound. With a frown, I pull my hand away and stare at the blood coating my palm.

All too suddenly, the world and all my surroundings come crashing into me. A dull, painful throb emanates from my left thigh. My joints and muscles seem to ache from within, almost as if I had been repeatedly pummelled with a mace. A slight breeze whispers over my skin, both a blessing to my overheated skin and a curse as cold, uncontrollable shivers dance up my limbs. Perfect, as if my wounds weren't enough, now I also have to contend with fever, most likely caused by infection in my wounds. Just then, a loud snore rumbles through the air. For the first time since waking, I notice the flickering campfire, the heat barely reaching my shivering form. I snap my gaze to a sleeping bandit, mere feet away from me. My heart beats to an erratic dance. Why would these vermin still need me? Where are they taking me and on whose orders?

During my travels away from the stifling walls of Camelot, the first and most important lesson I came to learn, was that bandits would do just about anything for a few bags of coin. This made it almost comfortably easy to strike any bargains with them, albeit very temporary. Most times, this was the fastest way to get things done with a little extra help, but it could very easily become a double-edged sword. For just as quickly as they accept bargains, they are just as quick to turn on you. Learning to deal with them efficiently had taken a lot of time and even more patience. It takes a lot of their own game to keep up with them. And perhaps, a little seduction, just enough to keep the men interested. A shiver of another kind runs up my spine. It would seem these bandits have little to no interest in striking any kind of deal with me. No… someone else has managed to catch their attention with quite a hefty bargain. That's the only explanation as to how I'm still here, bound and wounded… and very much alive.

"I see you are finally awake," a deep voice rumbles to my left. Heavy, fur coated boots step into my line of sight. When I look up, I am met with a cordial smile and sinister eyes the colour of night. Sheathed at the man's hip, is a barbed sword. The man who had run me through, I realise.

"Who are you?" I ask, my voice hoarse.

The man shrugs, coming to rest in a kneeling position to my side. "Well, that's up to you. I can be friend, or foe. The choice is yours to make."

I scoff, shaking my head. "How can I trust a friend who would rather run me through, than extend a hand in greeting?"

"I assure you, our… actions were well founded. Drastic measures had to be taken. Stories of the dark witch from Camelot is known far beyond the land of Albion."

"They are not stories, I can assure you of that," I hiss through clenched teeth. Fresh anger claws its way through the surface of my disinterested façade. What could this filth possibly know about me?

"Of course," the man placates. "Not so long ago, you were betrayed by those you had once held dear… perhaps you still care for them, but you keep that part of yourself locked very, very far away. It was… _his_ betrayal that cut the deepest, though, wasn't it? A man who plays at being your brother's man servant. Perhaps he _played_ at being your friend? No matter… it was ultimately the death of your sister that finally sent you tumbling over that cliff… What would Morgause think about you now, hmm?"

I shut my eyes against the sudden urge to cry. Memories jump to the forefront of my mind; Merlin's hand extending to offer me the poison-laced water, his blue eyes pleading. Morgause's face just before I plunge the dagger deep into her chest. And that's when I feel it, the light, barely-there tugging at my conscious. _Magic_.

"Wouldn't you like to see her again?" the man whispers, his voice a seductive pull. I clench my jaw, my breathing becoming rapid.

"Or is it the throne of Camelot you truly desire above all else?"

I shake my head against the probing thoughts. This man was reading my mind, somehow… but how is that possible? No such magic exists here.

"Not here, no," the man chuckles darkly. "Where I come from, far to the east across the seas, my land is fraught with magic. People like us are accepted there. That is why our leader has chosen to recruit you, Morgana."

Slowly, I open my eyes. "What do you mean?"

"We have come to free Albion of its restraints. But, my leader needs your help, Morgana. Without you, his dream cannot be realised. You understand?"

A tight knot forms in my throat. My eyes slip shut to welcome the sight of warlocks and witches, roaming the cities and towns of Albion without fear hounding at their heels. Little children, playing with their gifts in the open, a better Camelot, more open to change, more accepting. Perhaps if Arthur was willing to listen, he could lead Camelot into a brighter age. I feel a wistful smile pull at my chapped lips.

"_So pathetic. It makes my stomach churn," a voice drawls from within the shadowy confines of the forest. _

_I snap my head up. "Who's there?" _

"_You should know, Priestess." _

_The figure steps forward into the flickering firelight. I choke back a sob when the familiar features make sense to me. Dark, matted hair, black dress, hollow eyes. _

_Me. _

"_You're… You're -"_

"_Yes, I'm you. At least… a better version of you," she spits, dropping to her haunches over me. "Stronger, less fearful."_

_Her hand snaps forward, fingers clutching around my throat. I gasp at the sheer hatred in her jade eyes. _

"_Why don't you just take it?" _

_I shake my head. "What do you mean?" _

_She tilts her head, her mouth pulling into a snarl. "Not too long ago, you would have revelled in the sight of Camelot's torment. All that anger, all that… will to fight, to survive, where has it gone? What happened to your unwavering quest for vengeance, witch?" _

_As if from another life, memories stirred by old feelings come back to me. Yes, my hatred for Arthur, my desire for the throne… those feelings come rushing back, as if they were long forgotten. That is what I live for, that is my sole purpose in life. Once, not so long ago, I made an oath to see that desire fulfilled. The people of Camelot would feel my anger and they would learn to fear me. They would quiver at my feet and bow to their queen. And Arthur… _

_Arthur would learn to repent for the sins caused against my kind and me. He would know true darkness, true pain. I feel the vestiges of a smirk pull at my lips. The apparition of myself responds with her own menacing grin, eyes glinting. She pulls her face closer, her fingers around my throat becoming tighter. "Yes… take it, take the offer," she beckons in a soft whisper. "Kill them all…" _

_A rustle sounds to the side. A figure in white and soft blue circles around the fire, slow… calm. "Leave her be." _

_I flit my gaze to the side. Me… another me, pure and kind, eyes sparkling with hope, catches my eyes with a smile. "Morgana doesn't have to kill anyone ever again." _

_The darker version of myself snaps to her feet. "Well, well… if it isn't miss Prim and Proper. Come to gloat about how holy you are?" _

_The lighter version of myself chuckles. "I've only come to remind Morgana." _

"_What do you mean?" I ask, unable to help the tremble in my voice. What's wrong with me? What's happening to me? _

_Dark Morgana cackles into the night. "She's come to call you back to the side of good. I'm afraid you're several years too late for that." _

_Light Morgana keeps her gaze locked with mine. "That's not entirely true, is it, Morgana?" _

_I shake my head and shut my eyes tight. "What's happening to me? You're… you're not real," I whimper. _

_Light Morgana smiles reassuringly. "We're as real as you make us out to be." _

_I cradle my head between trembling hands. "No… no! This is… this is the fever. I'm hallucinating because of the fever." _

_Dark Morgana scowls at me. "Oh, would you shut up? Your rambling is really starting to grate on my nerves." _

"_No… no, no, no…"_

The man kneeling over me tilts his head to the side, a thoughtful frown pulling at his brow. "You are ill, Morgana. Your magic is divided."

"What do you mean? Who are you?" I demand through my ragged breaths. In the corner of my eye, I notice the two versions of myself share hateful glances with each other.

"My name is Roland, Court Sorcerer to King Asger of Idunn."

"Idunn? I've never heard of such a place," I mutter, averting Roland's penetrating gaze. Is he reading my mind again?

"No, you wouldn't have. It is far from Albion. You are fighting it."

"What?"

Roland places a warm, calloused hand over my forehead, his eyes slipping shut. I try to pull away, but his hand holds fast. "That's why you are ill, you refuse your magic what it needs."

"And what exactly would that be?" I grumble.

"The need to _guide_. You must let your magic free. Or you will surely perish," Roland opens his eyes, the gold of magic fading to reveal his dark irises. "Help us, Morgana, and I will extend my hand to you in assistance. What say you?"

I hesitate, rolling my head to the side to stare at the dancing flames. With one, simple answer, I could be one step closer to ending my fight. The throne would finally be mine, and Camelot would truly fear me. Arthur and his knights will be a thing of the past. Gwen will no longer stand in my way. And Merlin… perhaps, the Camelot dungeons would be a fitting place for the likes of him. He will suffer for the rest of his miserable life. He will know _my_ pain.

I feel an all too familiar darkness pull at my conscious. This Roland of Idunn is practically offering me my dream on a silver platter…

"_You would trust the man who tried to kill you?" Light Morgana questions, a deep frown pulling at her brow. Dark Morgana crosses her arms with a scowl._

"_I hate to admit it, but Miss Proper has a point. There was no remorse when he decided to run you through." _

_They're right_, I think to myself. How can I trust anything this man says? Who's to say he won't try to kill me again? What if I'm nothing but expendable to him?

"You will help us?" Roland asks.

I turn to pin Roland with a scowl. "No, I will never help you. My vengeance is my own."

Roland sighs, his smooth jaw clenching. "There is a war coming, Morgana. You would be wise to choose a side."

"I take no sides. My answer is final."

Roland shakes his head. "That is a pity. King Asger will not be pleased to hear this. No matter, you will serve one last purpose." Roland's eyes glow a deep gold as he mutters a string of words. _"Min hordcofa earon uncer." _

"You will warn Arthur Pendragon of his coming doom and then you will die."

A heavy weight settles over my mind. Thoughts snatch at my attention, their claws of suggestion sinking in. Against my own volition, the thoughts take permanent hold of my mind.

"I will warn Arthur Pendragon of his coming doom and then I will die," I hear myself repeat Roland's words almost mindlessly.

"_Bedyrne ge! Astyre ge panonweard!"_

In a flash of swirling winds, I feel myself transported.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Hey guys, back again. Sorry for the wait! So, for this chapter, we're delving into Merlin's POV (there will be quite a few of those). Also, just another note - this story is going to get the whole "no one can know about my magic" thing out of the way really, really soon. I always felt that that was an unnecessary plot line, since in actual fact, it stood in the way of so much awesome character development. _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

"MERLIN, YOU BLOODY IDIOT!" Arthur throws over his shoulder as we try – and quite poorly fail – to outrun the soldiers. Arrows whiz past our heads. Really too close for comfort, I note with a panicked shout. I force my legs to pump faster until I sidle up to Arthur, his face glowing red with exertion… and possibly some anger.

…_No, mostly anger_, I think sheepishly.

"I couldn't just leave it like that!" I try to defend myself. Arthur ducks his head as another volley of arrows slice through the air.

"The next time I tell you, 'Merlin, watch out for the net' perhaps try listening to me!"

I throw a glance over my shoulder at the fuming soldiers. "And leave it like that for some poor, unsuspecting animal to wander into? I think not!"

"Shut up, Merlin!" Arthur huffs, throwing me a glare.

"None of this would have happened if we had just stayed put like Gwen had suggested!" I stumble over a patch of intertwining tree roots just as an arrow comes flying over the space my head had occupied only mere seconds ago. "But no, you'd rather not listen to your wife and go prancing around in the woods with your stupid weapons."

"I do not prance, Merlin!"

I'm about to fire back with a witty retort, when a heavy weight crashes into me from the side. With a grunt, I fall to the forest floor, a murderous soldier holding his sword against my throat.

Arthur grabs onto the soldier's grimy, shoulder-length hair and rips him backwards. With practiced ease, Arthur slams his elbow into the soldier's face, effectively knocking him out. With a grin, Arthur grabs for the fallen sword. "Well, that's awfully kind of you."

A chorus of shouts echo all around us. It would seem in the time that I had been flattened to the ground, the soldiers had managed to catch up to us. Arthur shoots me a smirk. "Right, Merlin. Watch my stupid weapon save your dollop of a head."

A sudden wave of panic floods my body, sending my heart jumping wildly into my throat. I flick my gaze around; one, two, three… four… five…

Too many, my brain screams at me. For the last week and a half, a flood of reports of strange soldiers setting up camp alongside Albion's borders, had come in. Not much was divulged in these reports, only that their numbers increased by the day and that they clearly weren't from around Albion. Of course, this had Arthur concerned. What exactly are these soldiers doing here? And on whose command had they set foot in Albion? At the behest of Camelot's council, Arthur had sent word to the five kingdoms. Until a few days ago, only Mercia and Gawant had sent receipt of Arthur's inquiry. They too, had noted these strange soldiers and had immediately sought council with Arthur. When silence was our only answer from the remaining three kingdoms, Arthur had thought it wise to personally send messengers to each of the three kingdoms. Not long afterwards, the two rulers from Mercia and Gawant had arrived together, a sizeable contingent of soldiers behind them. Several hours after their arrival, tensions were beginning to rise. Arthur, surrounded by his council, had slumped into his chair, helpless and afraid. Truly a sight of defeat. For all their discussions and strategies, one prevalent matter remained – who are these people? And where do they hail from?

To make matters worse, scouts from both Lord Godwyn and Lord Bayard's armies had reported back with grave news. A small town in Brechfa was attacked by these very soldiers… using magic. At first, my heart had soared at this news. There are magic users from across the seas? However, Arthur's alarm soon became my own. This news only spelled certain doom for the armies in Albion, a land who would sooner persecute those with magic, than accept them. Several days later, when Arthur's messengers failed to return, the three rulers feared the worst. They would now have to rely on only each other for the troubling times ahead. While Lord Bayard from Mercia was more concerned about their intentions, Lord Godwyn from Gawant seemed stuck on who commanded these forces. Both problems were relevant, of course, but neither could be answered. And without any answers, they couldn't possibly hope to protect Albion.

The following morning, watching the grey pre-dawn hills of Camelot through the council room windows, it was Lord Bayard who had reluctantly offered a suggestion…

"_Perhaps I am too naïve, or perhaps I am too desperate, but… what of your sister, king Arthur?" _

_Arthur runs a hand through his already disheveled hair, frowning up at Lord Bayard from his seat at the council table. "What of her?" _

_Lord Godwyn turns to stare at Lord Bayard, equally as confused. I stand rigidly to attention behind Arthur, already not liking where this conversation was headed. Lord Bayard shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest. "Today, she is a powerful enemy to Albion… perhaps tomorrow, if her mind could be swayed, she would be Albion's most powerful ally."_

_Lord Godwyn slams a tight fist on the council table. "That is absolutely ludicrous! That woman is responsible for a great many sorrow in this land. Where she goes, evil will surely follow." _

_Arthur nods in agreement. "My sister has made her intentions explicitly clear; she would rather watch Albion burn, than help it."_

"_I beg to differ, your Grace," Lord Bayard shakes his head, moving forward to lean over the table. "Her safety is inexplicably bonded to ours. Without our success, her days would surely be numbered…" _

_I take a deep breath and allow a moment to consider Lord Bayard's idea. Depending on what this invading army wants with Albion, her safety, along with many others, will be jeopardized. Would it be below Morgana to stand together and fight for Albion? Would she be able to set aside her petty quest for revenge? What Lord Bayard said is true, she would be a powerful ally to Albion. _

_Arthur slowly rises from his seat, scratching at his temple. "If we are to assume that this invading army has only ill intentions towards Albion, then we will need all the help we can get."_

_My heart skips a few beats as I wait with baited breath for Arthur's next words. _

"_However… I cannot trust that my sister would be of assistance. She is too dangerous."_

_Lord Bayard nods, heaving a great sigh. "Perhaps there is another way, your Grace?"_

_Arthur nods. "Name it, my Lord."_

"_What of the Druids?"_

_Silence reins for several moments. Arthur sighs and folds his arms over his chest. "The Druids are a peaceful people, they would want no part in this. However… their safety is also compromised. Perhaps…" _

_Arthur trails off with a scoff. _

"_To fight with magic, against magic… If my father had been here instead of me…" Arthur trails off, staring at nothing. Lord Godwyn sighs, tapping the fingers of his one hand on the table. Lord Bayard straightens, his normally soft eyes taking on a hard edge. _

"_If I may, your Grace," Lord Godwyn begins, lifting a sorrowful gaze to Arthur. "Your father truly was just at heart, even for all his… regrettable flaws. He was a good father, a fierce protector, but… his hatred towards magic blinded him to too much in this world." _

_Lord Bayard makes his way to Arthur, patting the younger ruler on his shoulder. "With all due respect, your Grace, I'm infinitely pleased it is you, instead of your father." _

"_And why is that, Lord Bayard?" _

_Lord Bayard shares a knowing glance with Lord Godwyn. "For you will not be afraid to do what is right." _

_And so, less than a day later, I found Arthur packing his travel bag. The stubborn mule that he is, he wouldn't accept help from anyone. At my request to take the knights with for his own protection, Arthur vehemently denied. "I doubt the Druids would take to that very kindly," he had explained and against my will, I started to realise that perhaps, Arthur was right. It would be better to approach the Druids as peacefully as possible. _

_I nod, becoming thoughtful for a few seconds. "You're right, it would be best if we approached them by ourselves."_

_Arthur stops packing, lifting a questioning eyebrow. "'We' Merlin?" _

"_Yes, 'we.' There's no way you're going on your own."_

And that's exactly how we found ourselves in this mess, I conclude as I stare one of the soldiers down, his eyes ringed with some sort of dark makeup. And all this without the help of our supplies and horses. Well… that was entirely my fault, I admit. Without meaning to, my eyes land on the man's bare chest. And there's no telling what those odd, tribal tattoos might mean.

With a growl, Arthur swings his sword around his wrist. "Come on, then. Give it your worst!" Arthur challenges.

"Well, well… what do we have here. A king and his man servant? How adorable," A deep voice echoes down the ridge surrounding us on all sides. From above, a silhouetted figure the size of a bear, strolls down the hilltop. With a flourish, the mountain of a man lazily swings his battle axe up to rest over one shoulder.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" Arthur snaps.

"Now, now, that's not very _kingly_ of you," the figure continues to advance, his pace slowing as he nears us. When he comes into view, a cold shiver runs up my spine. The piercing, unnatural blue of his eyes stand out in stark relief against his chocolate coloured skin. His giant, rippling arms, adorned with spiked shoulder guards, isn't even the most frightening part. Nothing in all the five kingdoms, could have prepared me for the sight of fanged teeth and hair the likes of a lion's mane. "But, I suppose, if you must know, I am general Varg."

"Well, general Varg… care to tell me why you and your men are here?" Arthur fires back, seemingly undisturbed by the unnatural look of the man.

Varg releases a thunderous laugh into the treetops. "Oh, that's not important, king."

Arthur's grip on his sword tightens, his knuckles turning white from the strain. Varg lifts a hand in signal of some kind. And there, cresting the ridge all around us, more soldiers with their bows and arrows at the ready. I realise too late what's about to happen. Which, in all honesty, shouldn't have been that difficult to deduce. A, we are surrounded by soldiers and B, we suddenly just became clear targets. "And why exactly is that, Varg?"

"It's rather simple, king. You won't be leaving here alive," Varg drawls with a menacing scowl. I watch almost in slow motion as Varg drops his hand. My body stiffens, magic gripping my muscles in a scorching heat. I don't react fast enough, but my magic does. Against my own volition, acting purely on instinct, I throw my hands out. A shimmering bubble slams outward, encompassing Arthur and myself. The arrows strike uselessly against the magical shield. Through the gleaming shield wall, I watch as Varg lifts his own hand, his mouth forming words I am sure to be familiar with.

Without another moment's hesitation, I drop the shield, grab hold of a horrified Arthur and mutter words of my own. "_Bedyrne ús! Astyre ús panonweard!"_

A ripping wind blazes around us. Arthur tries to free his arm from my grip. With a desperate look, I fight him and tighten my hold on him. When the gust dies down, Arthur gives one giant heave and frees himself from my grip. He stumbles backwards, eyes glinting with anger. My chest heaves with shallow breaths, my heart pounding at my ribcage. A few leagues to the west, the white walls of Camelot stand tall and proud.

"Merlin…" Arthur glares at me. "What the bloody hell was that?"

I so desperately want to respond with placating words, when darkness swarms my vision. I feel myself fall forward as my world slams to black.


End file.
